


Daily Original Prompts: The Luminant Queen and Her Domain

by Azurala



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurala/pseuds/Azurala
Summary: Daily drabbles set in the original world of the Kingdom Uliara, each chapter taking place in the lives of its inhabitants. The drabbles are not in chronological order unless they are numbered as such. Each is inspired by a one word prompt which will be listed in the notes at the beginning of every chapter, followed by the chapter rating and any relevant tags.





	1. Blushing

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1, Prompt: Blushing  
> Rating: GA  
> Relevant tags: None  
> Unbeta'd.  
> The Queen, Aurora, can be seen [here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/405816045044236298/425482005250310144/Aurora_finished.png).

The rain had settled itself through the night over the castle, striking metal, stone, flesh, unwavering as a barrage of arrows from above. Even under his metal armaments, slipping beneath the heavy fabric of his tunic, the dampness and bitter cold still bit at Ciprian’s skin. The Queen had been seemingly unbothered by the overstay of winter into her beloved spring, greeting Ciprian as she did many mornings as bright as the sun, and warmer still. But since the rain sloughed away in her courtyard garden, the two were resigned to taking their morning reprieve elsewhere. However, once he arrived at her oratory, made rather late by the bumbling of young soldiers in the rain, he found Aurora missing. 

To say it was strange for the Queen to be absent from a regular meeting would be an understatement. No one had seen her since she’d left the great chambers, Nandru had said. She’d paid him a visit on her rounds, and Ciprian could tell. She bled warmth wherever she went, her garb carried by a warm breeze not unlike that on the summer plains, and the infirmary glowed as if the sun streamed in through the tall windows. The kitchen master said she’d passed through much earlier, taken some of the morning provisions and been on her way, seeming even brighter than normal, despite the gray dawn looming around them all. Even the strange Nomarii prince, presumably at the castle for the equinoctial point, had seen Aurora, though only when she passed the sanctuary. 

Following the direction he’d been pointed in by the pyromancer, he emerged from the inner corridors into the hall of arms. When the air grew surprisingly warmer and the summery scent of a world bathed in sunlight washed over him, Ciprian felt himself smile. Perhaps Aurora wasn’t feeling the gloom of the extended winter like the rest of her court, but it seemed she wasn’t quite taking it in stride, either. Beyond the stretch of stone and columns lay the courtyard garden she so loved, and it glowed like the sun herself lay there somewhere amidst the carefully kept flora. _I suppose she does._

He didn’t so much as set a sabaton on the soft grass before she knew he was there, turning towards him with a smile that beamed as bright as her eyes; white as the sun. The rain still came down upon her as it did all her castle, her silk and velvet dress plastered to her body by the deluge, but the life all around her seemed far less affected. Spring green leaves and blushing young blossoms thrived in her light, sparkling with dew as if the late winter hadn’t interrupted the birth of spring. “My lady of luminance.” He knelt before her, touching his fingers to his face in obeisance to the light. 

She drifted closer to him, seemingly hovering above the grass. Once she was close enough, blindingly bright, she touched his hand in affirmation. “My devoted.” Her light faded slowly, but the emanating warmth stayed solid in the courtyard, protecting her cultivations. “I am sorry for my disappearance, but I am afraid I simply could not let my gardens die to the frost.” The laughter in her voice pealed like chapel bells, and it was just as warm as her touch.

“I believe we can convene later, my Queen, but there are more important subjects than me waiting to bathe in your light.”


	2. Accent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2, Prompt: Accent  
> Rating: GA  
> Relevant tags: None  
> Unbeta'd.

While Nandru knew about the Nomarii, he’d only met a small handful since he had been chosen by the Northern Gale and brought into the court. Most notably, he’d encountered the Nomarii king, Romulus, but the older mage hadn’t really spoken much, at least to him. This one, though… The prince, Serafim, didn’t seem to mind talking the ears off the entire court. The way some of his words bled together slightly while others, the longer, drew out elegantly, rounded out by the softness of his tongue in spite of his brazen demeanour, was easy to get lost in. Perhaps that had been why Nandru had been so far gone until the moment all eyes of the court turned to him.

“...The Northern Gale.”

He came to when the prince spoke his epithet, but the rest of the spiel had been lost to Nandru. Trying to hold his appearance, Nandru brushed his long hair back from his face and raised his chin, taking the other mage’s confidence in stride. “What about the northern winds?”

Turning on his heel to address Nandru rather than the Queen, the Nomarii prince offered a short bow to the other elemental mage. “With both the Queen and the Gale’s permission, I would offer to fortify both Uli and Nomarii’s strength. If we were to know each other as we know our own magic…” His fingers seemed to glow with the fire his people were known to protect, the soft orange light glowing even amongst Aurora’s beams of sunlight where they shone in through the throne room windows. “Our elements together would be as formidable as the Light Herself.”

Nandru turned to his Queen, but Aurora merely smiled at him from where she reclined upon her throne, her opals glistening in the sunlight as she inclined her head towards him. “If it is what she wishes, then my permission is granted.” Nandru wasn’t keen on the prospect, but it was for his Queen and all her people. What better cause did he have?


	3. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3, Prompt: Mirror  
> Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  
> Relevant tags: M/M, slight body horror, depressive themes, implied sex, dubious consent to physical contact  
> Unbeta'd.

The mirror that stood before him had never been kind, true, but now… It showed the ugly truth. The decimation that crept up his leg, gnarled and black as death, had been banished from his physical form before it could kill him, but its plague still marred him. The way it pulsed with the beat of his heart, ugly black veins spidering their deadly touch from his left foot up the pale expanse of his leg, frozen in its tracks where its venom stretched over his hip, sickened him.  
The darkness blinded his inner sight, losing him a quarter of his body and soul, and the cold touch of death to his magic was equally painful to experience. He’d been lost in thought before the mirror since he had brought himself to rise from bed, far behind the sun. And he’d been there for quite some time, it seemed, for a knock sounded at his door.

“Give me just a moment, please!” He was in no shape to answer the caller, undressed and hideous as such. He stumbled to his bed to hastily tie back on the robe he had left there, happy that it fell to cover most of his legs. The simple ribbon still holding his hair back would have to do, messy as it was… His visitor had said nothing, and he did not want to keep anyone of import waiting. He nearly tripped over his own dead weight hurrying to the door, and the wall offered much reprieve from standing on his own. “I am terribly sorry, I--” behind the door stood the Nomarii prince, recovered, it seemed, from the wounds he’d sustained pulling Nandru from the grip of darkness, “Your Highness.” He bowed as well as he could, cursing himself for having to seek the wall for his weakness as well as for appearing before the prince looking as he did.

“Please, I had hoped us to be past the honorifics.” Serafim sighed, and gently, slowly, giving Nandru the ability to pull away, took his hand from the wall and held the healer’s arm in his own. “You should not stand without your staff, Nandru. What have you done with it?”

The nomad’s skin was warm on his, pleasant not unlike being near a gently stoked fire, and it was comforting, even if Nandru felt a revulsion at the man having to touch him. “It is beside my bed.” He conceded, and the warrior mage led him to it, hesitant, it seemed, to let him go even once Nandru stood tall with the staff in his right hand again. “Was there something that you needed from me? I ask your forgiveness for my absence, I would usually have the infirmary open as the Queen rises, but I…” When he looks the prince in the eyes, sees the pity and sorrow there, it nearly makes him ill. “There is no excuse. If you would give me a few moments, I can be,” he clears the pain from his throat, “Presentable.”

Serafim reached out to him again, but Nandru backed away from the proffered hand. “I did not come find you to open the infirmary. I… wanted to see you. To know that you were ok.” He took the rejection in stride, taking his hand back to card it through his shorn red hair. “I knew you were fine, of course, but the worry was not something I could ignore. And when you did not open your infirmary, I came here in spite of myself. I know it is foolish, and that perhaps I have overstepped, but I care for your company. And for you.”

The prince’s words stole the air from between his lips, and for a moment Nandru’s mind carried him away from his pain and fear, to the warmth of the prince’s arms and passions. If he had wanted, in that moment he could pretend that he meant more than power and carnality to Serafim-- but he wouldn’t allow himself to entertain his fantasies. “I am faring as well as I can be. Does the Nomarii prince have no better company than a broken healer to seek?” The venom in his words stung his own tongue, but Nandru let his anger take control of him. “If you still look to me to be your guiding wind, then you _are_ a fool. I am useless to you now, crippled as I am. You needn’t propitiate yourself to me anymore. Why would you?” He turned his glare upon the prince from where he had been seemingly willing his hand to snap his staff in two.

The pity had melted from the nomad’s fierce green eyes, leaving only the hurt and sorrow. Somehow, it felt worse to see. “I do not think of you only as the Gale,” he reached out again with that large hand, and this time Nandru let it come down on his shoulder, “or as a simple conquest. I had feared I may have made it seem that way, and I wanted to reconcile with you tomake my reasons known, but the attack interrupted my plans.” His rough thumb moved up and back across Nandru’s pale skin, tracing the strong muscle leading to his neck. “I am sorry that this is what you thought of me, but that is my fault.” He advanced slowly on Nandru, who shrunk back somewhat in return.

“Then what are these reasons of yours?” The back of Nandru’s knees encountered his bed, and he caught himself with both hands on his staff. “Why do you relegate yourself to me?”

Serafim’s other hand came up to cup Nandru’s jaw, and he had to fight the urge to press his face into that warm touch, so comfortingly different from his cold skin. “I do not see you as less than anyone else, less than I. I think you are beautiful and strong. I think that you eclipse the sun when you stand beside her, have since I first saw you. I know that I can be brash and indecisive, noncommittal, and that my actions distanced you from me. I hurt you, and I understand if you think less of me because of it.” The distance between them was achingly short, and the way Serafim’s eyes held Nandru’s made the gale mage’s breath shorten. “But I want to do right by you, to be true to you. I want the honor of courting you.”

In that moment, the warmth of those hands on him ran cold as ice. Time seemed to stand still for Nandru, and he reeled from the anger, the sadness, the breathlessness he experienced in those endless few seconds. When he regained himself in the present, he shoved the taller man away from him with a heave of his staff against his chest. The force of it left him to stumble back onto the bed, pain searing up from his toes to grip like a vice around his hip. “How dare you say such a heinous thing! Even if your words were true, you know the law!” 

Though they were equally matched in the arcane, Nandru was nowhere near as strong physically as Serafim, and had only managed to knock the nomad back a couple of feet. “I know the Uli laws, well. But I sought the Queen’s guidance, and her sanction specifically in this matter, and her word is the law. Of course, it does not mean you must accept. But please know that I speak the truth.” He remained where he stood, making no move either to leave nor to approach the bristling arcanist.

“You slept with me, before this, when I had a use. A purpose. We trained together, fought together, but you said nothing. Now that I am…” He took a shuddering breath. “Broken, disfigured, even weaker than I was before, you come to me with this. Why? What do you stand to gain from choosing me, when you could have anyone in all the valley at your feet?”

Serafim holds a steady hand out to Nandru, a silent offering that neither were quite sure the purpose of. “You ask me all of these questions, accuse me of lies, when I have as much to gain from lying to you as you think I do from courting you.” Nandru stares at the large, callused hand, his own still clutching his staff like a lifeline. “You have not considered that, perhaps, I do not view you as you do. That I have more faith in your abilities than you do, that I still think you beautiful and powerful as I did that first equinox we met. That I may have… Loved you, even, for longer than I know.”

Nandru’s eyes fell shut for a moment. Upon reopening, his sky blue gaze met Serafim’s, drowning as they were in tears, and he reached out shakilly for the hand offered him. Once he stood steadfast, he pressed the staff into Serafim’s hand and staggered towards the mirror, untying and slipping his robe from his shoulders. “You saw me then, unmarred, soft and… Beautiful.” He braced his right hand on the cold stone beside the gilded, spiteful thing that showed him a man he did not recognize. “Now I am nought but a shadow of that man you say you fell in love with. My own body betrays me, frozen in a necrosis, eating away at my soul and killing my magic. It is ugly, a sin, and it has made me into its likeness.” His tears fall freely to dot the floor where he stares down at his gnarled foot, a gruesome handprint frozen forever where it had melted his skin as it infected him. “I am worthy of nothing but the dirt they will bury me under. Much less of you.”

Serafim gingerly rested the staff on Nandru’s bed before coming to stand behind him, laying a warm hand on each hip to pull the healer backwards, letting him lean against his chest. The way the shorter man flinched at his touch twisted his heart within him. “You are still beautiful, you are not unmade by this curse upon you.” The warmth of the hand that rested gently over the black where it spread like veins over his hip must have been a comfort to Nandru, for he laid his hand over Serafim’s, holding it there. “I will still love you, in any and every way. Nothing you can say will change that, so long as you do not turn me away. But I would respect your choice, if that is what you wanted.” He bowed his head to nuzzle his face into Nandru’s neck, inhaling the soft, lingering scent of the herbs he worked with every day, like a cool spring breeze in the Queen’s gardens.

The silence stretched for long moments between them, broken only by Nandru’s ragged breathing. Once he finally spoke, his voice was no more than a harsh whisper. “It hurts, Serafim. It burns like cold fire...:” He turns in to those strong, warm arms, away from the mirror, to hold Serafim the same, pressing his bare body closer to the living will of the flames.

“Then let me be your warmth.”


	4. Traditional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4, Prompt: Traditional  
> Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  
> Relevant tags: M/M, depressive themes, sexual implications  
> Unbeta'd.

The final bleeding warmth of the sun streaming through the infirmary windows was more than welcome where it cascaded over Nandru’s shoulders to illuminate the delicate herbs Aurora had just brought him. The ones he could use while they were still green and fresh, plush and soft from the Queen’s gentle care, he stripped the leaves from before carefully cutting away the roots. The ones he needed dried were already neatly bundled, ready for Aurora to take them to her solar, where the sun beamed for a great part of the day. Why the Queen was willing to have her personal rooms smell of medicines, Nandru could not understand, but he was more than grateful for her support. Drying them for days before a fire was meticulous, even if the sun took longer, and stripped them of some of their potency, and the icehouse was an even worse option, in his opinion. He hated to be in that spiraling hole of winter-- it made his leg stiff and his soul tired, and the darkness crept in on him every moment he had to be inside those dreaded mud walls…

“Nandru?” A familiar, lilting voice broke through his worried trance, and Nandru returned to himself to see a jeweled, sunkissed had on his desk, carefully placed so as not to disturb his delicate work. “My love, where have you been?” The ornate gold chains looped onto his fingers met over the back of his palm on a pendant, then trailed furter up to a carefully fitted circlet on his arm. Beyond that, Nandru’s eyes followed the black, wispy lines carefully etched into Serafim’s skin up his arm, to his shoulder adorned with a single gilded pauldron, the match to his father’s, and up to his face, which wore a gentle smile under all of his traditional drapery.

“I was… Fretting, over that accursed icehouse.” Nandru glared at his lover when he received a playful chuckle for his fears. He pushed himself up from his desk, taking his staff in hand so he could come out from behind it, where he was immediately pulled into a crushing embrace, complete with kisses to his neck, chin, and, finally, his lips. “You still wear your diadem, and all of your finery. Have you worn it all these months?”

Serafim lifted the golden circlet from his head and carefully affixed it over Nandru’s soft flaxen hair. “Unfortunately. And now all the Nomarii rest gratefully with the Queen’s welcome, here. It has been a long and tiring season.” He kissed the fiery gem where it was carefully encrusted into the metal, and it glowed warm against Nandru’s forehead. “I dread crossing the eastern rise, but we are alive and better for it.” 

Nandru could not help but to feel small in the diadem of the Fire’s Will, the power of it, even separated from its owner, felt as if it eclipsed all of the magic he held in his broken body. “I am sure this was a good return for your people, word said the storms were fierce this year and that the Vallach needed everything they could get. I am sure Aurora is happy with what you have returned bearing for us.” He stood tall to circle Serafim’s neck in his arms so he could kiss the black tongues of flames in reverence where they danced on the tan skin of the column of his throat. 

Serafim shrugged at that, putting up that facade of the careless prince many thought him to be. “Those details are between her and my father. Hopefully she does not _rob him blind!_ ” They both shared a laugh at the Nomarii King’s expense, and Serafim used the moment to pull away from their embrace, gracefully moving to the closest bed, where he’d left something rather large and wrapped in blindingly blue silk. Nandru had been truly lost in his nightmare to not notice neither his lover’s return nor his latest prize. “I care less for what my people have brought the valley, and more for what I had made for you…” He held it out to Nandru, lifting away a corner of the silk.

The gale mage hated almost nothing more than when his lover returned to Uliara with gifts for him. Even if they were usually small trinkets, beautiful clothes, or exotic fruits from the far shore, dried by his own fire, the gifts made him feel as if the day would never come when the Prince will tire of this ridiculous courtship… “Serafim, my love, you bring more to me than you do Aurora.” He took the silk in hand, marvelling at its fluid softness and the beautifully vibrant blue that stood out even more against his pale skin. Carefully unravelling it revealed a point of wood, beautifully cured and carved in elegant swirls and eddies that danced with the colors of the tree it had once been. The sight of it made Nandru’s stomach drop, as if it were to pull him back into the imagined depths of that dark icehouse. “Serafim, I… I do not need this, it is far too much for the likes of me…” He draped the silk back over its hidden treasure and turned away from the now withering gaze of his beloved, fighting a tightness in his chest that threatened to choke him.

“Nandru, please, do not turn away from me.” Serafim came closer to lean his chest into Nandru’s back, careful not to pin him against the desk, rather bring his arms under Nandru’s to the front of him. He pulled the silk from the body of the staff, letting it pool over the leaves on Nandru’s desk, forgotten in their shared sorrow. “You are worth more to me than any material thing, do not compare yourself to anything else. I love you so deeply,” he held the staff in his left hand, his right working at Nandru’s vice grip on the gnarled dark wood of the staff he knew the man hated, “I cannot bear to see you suffer, to hate something you need to live, for it to inhibit you the way it does.” He managed to pry Nandru’s fingers from the old thing, letting in clatter to the floor, but the healer slips his hand away, bracing himself on the edge of his desk. “I had this handmade for you, specifically to channel your magic, to help you command the gale again.” 

Nandru didn’t even want to look at the wretched thing, to see what Serafim had secreted away to waste his gold on, but a warm hand on his chin meant to lift his head, and he chose not to fight it. The staff was taller than his own, and far more ornate. The carvings of the winds decorated the entire surface, which had been lovingly sealed in a resin to protect the art. They danced and swirled up the wooden body until they met with a sight that pulled the air from Nandru’s throat like a raging fire. “Serafim…” His voice was weak and low. He hated every word that spilled from his lips in such a way. “How can you waste this on me?” Laid into the top, cradled in the wood as if it had grown roots around its treasure, was a gorgeous sapphire as blue as a midsummer sky, veined through with soft white. The winding roots fit perfectly over its glossy surface, encasing the precious, perfect sphere in a tight cage. The image of it blurred as tears welled up in Nandru’s eyes.

“Do not cry, do not fret, my love. It is not wasted on you. It was carved and blessed only for you, by a friend I treasure dearly who resides in the mountains.” He kisses the curve of Nandru’s jaw chastely, bringing his free hand down to rest over one of Nandru’s where it still gripped the desk. “It can channel your magic, give you back some of what was lost. It can help you be free again…” He felt his own eyes grow hot with the threat of tears.

The warm hand over his felt like branding fire. “If I use it,” he chokes on the air he once wielded so easily, “it will be bound to me. It can never bend to the will of another.” A small yes came from the man holding him. “And then you could never undo this mistake. It would forever be tied to a broken man, never to be used as it could’ve been. By someone strong, whoever the Gale chooses when it finally forsakes me.”

“If it has not forsaken you now, it never will. You cannot hope it will leave you, it has chosen you and it stands by its will.” The chains on his hand tinkle softly as he caresses Nandru’s, hoping to ease his grip on the old desk. “I will never let anyone wield this staff but you. I want you to take it, to use it, to let me help you tame the northern winds again. I want to feel your magic once more, as I feel your body against mine. I want you to take from me the will of the flames, to command us both as you wish. You were happy then, when the wind danced to your thoughts, when you could lead my flames to become an inferno, or suffocate them so they could do no harm. You were a god over me, choosing when to fuel my rage and when to stay my hand like iron chains.” Flames licked at the skin of Nandru’s hand where they touched, like the softest kisses from his lover, unable to hurt him and as sweet as his passions.

The temptation was great, heavy on his shoulders as the weight of every soul who came into his infirmary seeking his touch. The sun beamed into the grand windows somehow warmer now upon them, even though she was setting quietly over the horizon, and the soft whisper of it over his skin felt as if it washed away those burdens. It took their pain from his mind and cleansed it as easily as he could have, if only his body did not betray him where it was frozen infinitely in its rot. It felt like Aurora, guiding him as she does everyone, and it intensified the kiss of Serafim’s magic everywhere they touched until the pressure grew too much for him to ignore. He shakily moved his hand from where he’d been holding the desk as if it was his only chance for life, and Serafim’s gentle touch helped guide him to the smooth surface. As soon as he merely touched it, he could feel it call to his soul, stirring his magic from where it languished inside of him, bringing it to his fingertips, exciting the flames that now lapped at his hand like a torch lit by Serafim’s love that he felt so strongly in that moment.

When he took it fully into his hand, Serafim released it to guide Nandru back against his chest, whispering something the healer couldn’t hear over the roar of the wind in his mind. His other hand free without supporting him, he held it aloft in both, examining it where the wood tingled beneath his fingers, inciting him to let his magic flow into the wind etched into its surface. Without another conscious thought, he let his body open to the staff, and his soul poured forth into the willow wood, rushing through the carving and up into the gem, which glowed with the force of the storm he’d locked away. The infirmary came alive around them with a veritable cyclone trapped in the stone walls, carrying on it precious herbs and the silken wrap, disturbing the empty beds and sending his carefully arranged parchments to the wind. Flames bristled from where they touched, pulled to and fro by the new currents of the air, testing Serafim’s grasp on his will as he felt the ecstasy of Nandru’s undeniable power threatening to sweep him away.

As soon as it had come, the gale was once again gone, leaving Nandru’s beloved infirmary a mess and the two souls in it no better for wear. Nandru held the staff to his chest, overwhelmed by the feeling of it and the freedom it offered as well as the renewed sense of raw power, strength, and love Serafim’s magic sang to him where their bodies touched, hot like an arid summer.

Behind them, the door to the infirmary slowly shut, silently hiding them away from the rest of the castle. Though it was not pushed by the winds, but rather pulled closed by a Queen who smiled bright as the sunlight that faded from the windows as dusk set in. _Blessed be the winds that guide._


	5. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5, Prompt: Rage  
> Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  
> Relevant tags: M/M, slight body horror, injury, hurt/comfort, slight sexual implications  
> Unbeta'd.

When Nandru came to, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing pain in his head. The next, perhaps far more important, were the flames that roared around him. They lacked the finesse and control Serafim would wield them with, and when Nandru reached a hand out to them, their heat licked at his palm, and pain followed their wake. _Is this Serafim’s doing? The fire should not be able to hurt me if he is in control…_ “Serafim!” He called, his voice like sand in his throat, choking him on his next breath. The smoke filled his lungs, burning him from the inside out, and he knew surely now that, even if this inferno was Serafim’s magic, he had no hand in its spread.

There was not much he could recall. They had been crossing neutral land, the plains here too desolate of soil to be of use for anything but the grass that was now burning to ash around him, alone, on horseback. Had they been attacked? Was Serafim conscious, did he start the blaze? In times of peace, healers are considered sacred, and most authority agreed that a healer held immunity, for their gift was few and far between. Even if some rogues were willing to risk their lives to kill one, even fewer would dare to attack a Nomarii, usually for the exact reason raging around Nandru now. 

The smoke and flames hazed the world around him, and without his staff, Nandru could not stand from the ground, much less clear the air. He hauled himself up from the cinders with considerable effort, only managing to sit upright, wiping the ash from his face. The heat was stifling, and he could only call Serafim’s name once more before a coughing fit overtook him, his lungs fighting the unclean air. When the fit passed the worst of it, tears streaking clean trails down his face, the sight he found in front of him was a nightmare the likes of which he could never have dreamed himself:

Before him stood a figure, recognizable by the glittering gold that shone beneath the flames rising from his very skin, red hot and searing to even be near. The whites of Serafim’s eyes glowed the hottest out of it all, nearly blinding as the sun in their intensity. Every inch of him rippled with his rage born into fire, but the most alarming were his hands, blazing that same furious white as his eyes, with Nandru’s staff clenched in his fists.

The ethereal image of the man he loved fell to his knees before Nandru and held out the staff, his movements shaky with the effort of grasping at the last shreds of his own will. Nandru backed away from the offering, the heat pouring off Serafim’s body was already almost too hot to stand, how could he possibly touch the staff? Would it not be burning, as everything else? Some kind of anguished sound spilled from Serafim’s lips, inhuman, no words, only pain, and one of those blazing hands reached for Nandru. In his panic, Nandru only fell backwards into the decimated grass to watch in fear as that large hand descended upon his chest.

But the searing pain did not come.

Instead, the burning was pulled from Nandru’s lungs, the sting from his eyes, and the heat from his skin. Serafim’s touch was like blessed ice, taking away the pain the flames had caused him and easing his fear. Another cool hand placed his staff in his hand, willing him to take it, and with it all of Serafim’s control. They had studied this, of course, his ability to take the fuel from the flames and snuff them out like a glass over a candle, but he had never done so on this scale, or with Serafim at risk. But the anguish on his face, the soulless gleam in his eyes, and the uncontrolled conflagration around them, left Nandru with no choice. 

With an outpouring of his soul into the vessel of the staff, he called the air away from the flames, away from them, to rise into the sky. The change was immediate, the world around them cooled, and the fire died rapidly, suffocating itself for want of life. But Serafim crumpled with his creation, the flames wicking away from his skin, some disintegrating into the space around him while the rest seemed to recede back into his skin, his ritual tattoos searing white hot as his magic was drawn back into him, seeking safety in his soul. He gasped for air where he barely braced himself over Nandru, and the sight of Serafim in such pain, no longer from his out of control rage but from Nandru’s own magic, burned worse than any flame. But he had to make sure that the blaze would not return as soon as the air settled back around them, and the Nomarii’s eyes were still fading from the effects of his magic.

Slowly, too slowly, as Serafim fought for the air that was not there, those glowing eyes turned to Nandru, and hot tears dripped from them onto his chest, searing his skin through his clothing. “Serafim, please, come back to me. I need you here, I need you in control…” He whispered with the last of the air in his own lungs. But before his lover could regain himself, he collapsed, deadweight on Nandru’s chest and legs. In that same moment, Nandru let the wind come crashing back down upon them like the world bursting into existence, expanding outward from the one that had only been the two of them.

“Serafim, ah, you’re hurting me, please,” the weight on his crippled leg was excruciating enough, but the beautiful gold Serafim wore seared white hot wherever it pressed against Nandru’s body, “ _my love, please, wake up…_ ” He tried to rouse Serafim in his own language, but the man was still too far gone.

\--

Nandru had no idea the passage of time, too delirious from the pain to take notice even when Serafim finally came around. Still shaken from his loss of control to the fire’s will, the realization of the burn holes in Nandru’s clothing brought the Nomarii to tears. As he kissed away the heat, taking the burning from Nandru’s skin into his own, he whispered gentle words to him. “ _My love, my soul, my will,_ ” his native language rolled from his tongue, soothing and calm as water to the healer as he regained coherence, “ _the wind that carries our light, that guides my soul, I am so sorry… My beautiful Northern Gale, how can I have hurt you? Please find it in your pure heart to forgive me, to be my intended._ ” Once he had kissed, touched, soothed every burn on his lover’s body, he lay his forehead on Nandru’s chest, watching his tears as they wet the ash stained white cloth there. “ _I want nothing more than your love._ ”

Nandru brought a hand to Serafim’s hair, smoothing back the short, fiery strands, understandably startling his lover. “Do you mean all you said?” His voice was soft, unsure, and trembled with the tightness in his throat.

Serafim’s laugh shook as hard as his hands, becoming somewhat of a desperate, pained sound. He had forgotten that many of the Nomarii were helping Nandru to learn their native tongue, surprisingly acceptant, to Nandru, at least, of a Uli often being in their midst. “Of course I did, my love.” He took the hand from his hair and kissed the palm and the tip of every finger, then held it to his cheek. “I would have you as my intended, if you would have me. I would wed you before all Nomarii, I would give you the will of the flames, should you have it.”

In response, Nandru only turned his gaze up to the slowly darkening sky.


End file.
